Black Bullet
by Vaviacya
Summary: In Lovino's life, only three things matter - money, murder, and the Mafia. But when one mission goes wrong, everything changes. One lost memory depends on the fate of everyone. The wrong people involved, the wrong assumptions made, and the wrong words said. /Spamano/ Please read warnings.


_**A/N:** You should read this before you read the real story. This does contain character death, so don't go flaming to me about it. Also, **João**_ _is **not** my OC, or anything like that. He is a real character in Hetalia, and some of you might figure out who it is by the end of this chapter. Have fun reading~_

_**Warnings:** The Mafia, character death, language, violence, blood, other such things that aren't really meant for children._

_**Disclaimer: **I don't own. Of course. OwO_

* * *

The night was silent. Absolutely silent. Not even so much as a breeze stirred the air, not a stray cat pondering the streets. The rain had ceased by now, and the entire town was covered in a dark, moist haze. No one was out at this time. Only the moon and the occasional flicker of the nearby streetlamp gave any source of light.

A step forward. The sound echoed through the alley, and nothing moved. No reaction.

Another step. A pause.

"Finally."

My gaze shot to the left, my dark eyes narrowing. The figure, leaning against the wall, was hidden by shadows, but the voice was unmistakably familiar.

"About time." The man in the dark commented dryly.

"What, did you think I wouldn't show?" I scoffed, hands deep in my pockets of my well-worn jeans, which did very little for warmth. I would have to get a new pair soon. Somehow.

"Being the coward you are, I wouldn't be surprised."

I bit back a harsh reply, "Just give it to me. You'll know I'll get the job done."

There was no immediate response. The man reached into the inside pouch of his jet-black coat – not that color was distinguishable anyway – and pulled out a silver colored case about seven by five inches or so, handing it to me. With a small glance to each side of me, I took the case from his hands quickly.

"Feels a little light," I said, reaching into my jeans pocket, pulling out a small key. With the key, I unlocked the case, and flipped it open.

"What do we have here...?" I murmured to myself, studying the contents of the case. "Benelli B76?"

I looked back up to the man. "You're trusting me with this, huh?"

"You better not fail." The man said evenly. "That should do the trick."

"Yeah, yeah." I picked the pistol up in my hand, adjusting my grip slightly. "Not bad, I guess." With a slight arch of my eyebrow, I asked, "Didn't they stop manufacturing these? How did you get this?"

"Does it really matter?" The man asked gruffly.

I rolled my eyes. "Lighten up, boss. I'll handle it, like I always do. Have I ever let you down before?"

"Your brother hasn't helped prove it otherwise."

I snapped the case shut, locking it, and slipping it between my hoodie and shirt. I didn't have any pockets there, so I just held it against my body with one hand in my pocket. "Look. I'll get it done. Now where's the ammo?"

"It's already loaded," The man told me. "Five shots."

"Five." I repeated. "That's a number I can work with."

"Get going." The man glanced to his right, then to his watch. It looked new. I couldn't help but wonder how he managed to get it.

"I have a few more things I need to take care of. Get the hell out of here, and get the damn thing done, you hear me?"

"Sure thing, _sir_," I mocked, backing up against the wall. "I'll see you later, then."

"At two."

"Mm-hm." I reached behind me, pulling the hood of my jacket over my head.

Without another single word, I walked down the alley, keeping my head down, staring at my own feet.

I kept walking just like that, only looking up to check the time on my old watch, which was about seven minutes fast, and the chain somewhat looser than I'd prefer.

It was nearly midnight, and I was nearly there.

After another five minutes or so, I dug around in my jacket, retrieving what I was looking for. I pulled out a small white box, which I opened, and with two fingers, tapped out the cigarette. Grabbing the recently stolen lighter, I lit it, and shoved everything back into my jacket.

Taking the cigarette between my index finger and thumb, I inhaled a breath, closing my eyes for a moment. I sighed, feeling the satisfactory pleasure from the chemicals working against my own body. Strange how something so terrible can feel so good...

I couldn't help but smirk a bit at that thought.

I ran through the recited address in my head. I glanced up briefly at the nearby street sign, now positive of my location. It was just around this corner now.

The neighborhood was mostly deserted. Info from the surveillance confirmed that the two houses closest to the target's were completely vacant. The house directly across was also empty.

I shook my head to myself with a grin – I couldn't believe my own luck.

Just about a quarter-mile away from the targeted house was a small park. I found myself in the middle of that park, and scanned the area for the bench... There it was.

I walked up to the bench, its color fading with time and weather. It was hidden under a couple of trees – probably a result of someone's bright idea for keeping the sun out of visitors' eyes.

But it wasn't necessarily just the bench I was looking for. Just behind it was an enormous tree of some sort, and a bush just beside it. I crouched down in front of that stupid bush, and grabbed the case from hidden in my jacket.

Unlocking it once more, I took a hold of the weapon, and and I shut the case once more. I pushed the case underneath the bush, near the base of the plant, to make certain no one would find it on accident. Before standing up again, I swiftly hid the gun inside my jacket again, switching the safety off. And I was gone again.

I kept my eye on the street. If I were to see anyone at all, this entire mission would have to be called off. I had to be careful – _really _careful.

I saw no one.

I could hear my heart pound loudly in my chest as I walked up the driveway of the house. My pulse was increasing rapidly. But not out of fear, oh no.

Pure _thrill_.

I was up on the front door, and I nodded slowly to myself, remembering right where the house key was. With my foot, I kicked up the doormat, and bent down for just enough time to snatch the dull-colored key.

I inserted the key into the lock, and twisted, and heard the approved _click_. The key was slipped into my pocket. I took a hold of the front door knob, and turned it very, very slowly. They door opened quietly, and I stepped into the house.

The house was eerily silent, but that was to be expected around this hour. I leaned against the door as it closed slowly, making sure it didn't make a single noise as it shut. Once it was closed, I look the pistol from my jacket. I took my cigarette between my fingers with a final, nerve-settling drag, I took it between my teeth.

I walked lightly, my gun pointed upwards, my eye sharp. I had to be ready for anything.

The first room I came into was what I guessed to be the living room. A few couches, a television set, coffee table, and kitchen combined into the same room made it up.

Then, my gaze rested on the sight of two men. Asleep.

They both looked like they were around their early-twenties, maybe even younger. The one sleeping on the couch had long blonde hair and fair skin, sleeping soundly. The second, I noted, was different. He had what seemed to be silver or gray hair, and was sleeping on the floor next to the couch.

I praised my fortune – the boss was right.

I raised my gun to the figure on the couch, and without even leveling it out with my eye, my finger touched the trigger once, and then shot.

My favorite part of killing a person is the sound. The extraordinary sound.

The tight _crack_ of the gun when it fires is truly something to behold. The sound of someone's very last breath, their surprised gasp, even their horrified scream. It was wonderful.

The man was dead. The vital bullet hole through the back of his head did it. I only had about half a second to watch as blonde hair became dark red, and then I turned my attention to the second man in the room.

He had awakened, and had scrambled to get up on his feet. His ruby red eyes widened in terror at the sight of his murdered friend, and that gaze turned to me.

"_Francis_!" He screamed. "_What the hell have you __**done**__?_"

He ran toward me, and I raised my right leg, kicking the man back on the floor. I heard that all-too familiar sound of a cracked bone. The man hit the floor, yelling out in pain. I raised my pistol, feeling my eyebrows raise.

"I like your eyes," I commented, my finger on the trigger. "They're my favorite color."

Not a half second later, he was dead. One shot straight through the forehead.

"O-oh, my _God!_"

I turned towards the sound of a new voice, and saw a girl at the staircase. She, too, was blonde, with short hair. She was wearing a night-gown, falling to her knees, the strap on her shoulder slipping slightly. Her big, green eyes were as wide as they could be, and I saw my chance.

I walked towards her. My finger still rested on the trigger, but my arm was down. The girl was crying, and I could see her knees shaking.

"W-why are you doing this? Wh-what do y-you _want?_" The girl choked out, unable to look at the sight of the two men.

I stared at the girl dead in the eye, and said, "I'm here looking for someone that you might know, and might be in this house at this time."

The girl didn't reply, her tears and sobs making it difficult for her to. So I continued. "Do you know anyone by the name of João Carriedo? It's mildly important."

"J-J- João?" The girl managed to say, her eyes overflowing with tears. "N-no, I d-don't know a-a Jo-" "I am _not _ in the mood for lies," I growled, forcefully grabbing her hair in my hand. She cried out as I twisted my hand, her hair being torn out of her scalp.

"I-I'm n-_not_ lying!" She screamed. "Th-there's no J- João here!"

"_Stupid_!" I snarled in frustration, and with my hand in her hair, I angrily snapped my wrist downward, and she fell down the stairs. I didn't even look to see if she got up again, and I sprinted up the stairs.

Just at the very top was a sharp corner, I realized, and I slowed my pace, my gun ready. If the information was right, there were still at least one other person in the house. But I wasn't about to take any more chances.

I stepped into the room, my pistol raised. I was fully prepared for a gun pointed at my head at the exact moment I did. But what I I saw was completely different than what I was expecting.

A young man was sitting on what looked to be like a desk, his hand resting on his upright knee. In his other hand was a gun.

The man had somewhat tan skin, with wavy, long brown hair. Green eyes flickered up at me, narrowing, but his expression hardly changed besides that. Wearing only a T-shirt and cargo pants, I figured this was going to a lot easier than I had first thought.

"Are you João Carriedo?" I asked him, my eyes finally adjusted to the dim lighting in the room.

The man didn't answer. Instead, he glanced to his left, and I followed his line of sight, and my eyes widened. An window wide enough for anyone to climb through was wide open.

"_Damn it,_" I hissed, keeping the gun pointed right at his head. A very small smile began to creep up on his lips, and it pissed me off.

"He got away, didn't he?" I glared furiously as I began to feel raw frustration heating up inside me.

"Where the hell did he go?" I took a step toward him, that stupid smile still on his face.

"How should I know?" The man replied, with a shrug of his shoulders.

I lost it. I grabbed for his neck, my grip tight. I dropped my gun, and in a split second, pulled out the hidden knife I kept in a pouch hooked to my jeans. The knife, shining silver, was roughly eight inches long in length, not including the handle.

"You _should_," I spat, pressing the sharp blade against his neck. "Or you know _exactly _what I'm going to do."

I let the knife slice through his skin slightly, and a trickle of blood began dripping from the fresh cut. I felt the man stiffen slightly, but then his voice, "I don't think that will be necessary."

A kick to my leg, right on the knee, and I stumbled backwards. In that same moment, Antonio lunged to the side, snatching my gun forgotten on the floor.

"You son of a-!" I rounded to him, cursing at my stupidity.

But he didn't make another move. In fact, he took both his gun and mine into the same hand. He outstretched his hand to the other side, and released his hold on them. They metal clanged together loudly on the wooden floor, echoing through the room.

I scratched my thumb nail into the handle of my knife, my gaze never leaving his. What was he planning to do next?

"Let's make this a fair fight." The man said.

His accent made surged anger through me – I could barely stand it. There was something about it that just annoying the living shit out of me.

The man reached behind him, his eyes glinting with amusement. Then, pulling his hand back, I saw the knife he held. The blade was black, and the leather handle matched. It looked polished and well-taken care of.

We lost no time. I charged towards him, my knife pointed at the perfect angle. Aiming straight at his neck, even if my sight was off by a little, it would still be a fatal wound.

I quickly blocked his knife, jumping out of the way, landing, and lunging straight at him again in a fluid moment.

There was something different about the way this guy fought, I realized, as the fight continued. I've never seen a stance like that before; his feet patterns and arm movements – they were all new. Efficient, and I was unsure how to fight against him.

I needed to look for a weakness. Quickly. I found myself being slowly backed up against the other side of the room, which goes without saying. The man didn't want me getting to the guns.

I studied every move he made. He _had _to have _some_ sort of disadvantage. Everyone does. I watched out for his reactions to different charges I tried.

Nothing. He was a complete natural. He struck at me, his eyes dark with certainty, and I couldn't find the time to move.

I cried out when I made to quick of a move – and the next thing I know, his knife, smooth and sharp, was plunged straight into the very top of my left shoulder. The blade was quickly returned back, and I covered it with my right hand, grimacing at the incredible pain. I could feel my own warm blood coating my hand, and I felt my hands shaking. I felt my knees nearly give out under me.

_Damn it, **no!**_ I screamed to myself. _This is still the beginning! Don't you **dare** fucking give up!_

I bit my lip, growling to myself. I tore my hand away from my shoulder, my knife once again ready – and dove straight into the fight, looking for any type of hesitation from him. Again, he blocked everything I attempted, and I was losing patience. Fast.

I let out an aggravated yell, my attacks growing more sloppy and wild. Suddenly, his arms were thrown up into the air as he narrowly dodged on of my disfigured experimental attack. I didn't even think after that. I had found my opportunity, and tackled him straight to the ground. His head had came into hard contact with the floor.

I saw his eyes widen in shock, and I suddenly realized how hard he had hit the ground. I could actually begin to see blood seeping through his dark hair, staining the wood underneath.

I had him pinned down, both of my hands on each side of the knife, on his neck. Without hesitation, I stomped on his right hand. He winced, and his grasp on the knife loosened. I seized the knife, and with it, I pressed it against his chest, just over his heart.

"You've got some fucking _skill_," I panted, glaring. I was out of breath, sweating, breathing hard, I was a mess. But I had won. And that's what matters. Doesn't matter how much you get hurt in the process – the jobs needs to be done.

The man didn't reply, and I shook him angrily, threatening for any sort of response. Then his eyes opened wearily, and cracked a smile.

"You..." He spat out, but in a somewhat humorous way, like this was fucking _funny_ or something. And apparently, to him, it was. He started laughing. Quiet, crackling, shaking his head just barely.

"Who exactly..." He rasped out. "Are you looking for?"

My eyes narrowed, and said, "João Carriedo. Know 'im?"

The same laugh again. It was getting me mad. I had this guy hanging on his life by my own patience, and he was wasting my time. He either knows what he's doing, or he's as stupid as fuck.

"Ah..." Green eyes flickered at me. "I know a Carriedo."

"_'A'_?" I repeated. "There's more than one?"

"Oh yeah." The man's eyes closed for a moment. "There's more than one all right."

It was just now that I noticed the critical condition this guy was in. Blood was matted in his hair, dripping down his forehead and even cheeks.

"Then do you know the one that goes by João?" I asked, the knife on his throat digging in slightly. He barely budged. "I might."

"Fucking _tell me_," I shouted, enraged by his stalling. Every single second I spent here, the farther away the escaped bastard got.

The man gave a very low chuckle. "I don't know anything else."

"God, _damn it_!" I screamed. I lost it. I slammed his the back of his head against the floor, and the look of pure fucking _agony_ on his face – I loved it. I didn't have time for his stupid games.

I was fairly certain he was dead. The bleeding increased rapidly, his eyes shut. But then I could make out the small rise and fall of his chest – and I knew he was still alive. Barely. I made my knife trail lower down to his shoulder, cutting the skin slightly. He didn't even wince. He was out cold.

I sat up, siding my knife back into the hidden pouch, and took his into my hand. It was a good blade, I realized as I studied it quickly. I didn't recognize it, which was a little surprising. My knowledge on foreign weapons was pretty good, but I didn't know much about this one.

I stood up, running my free hand across my forehead, feeling blood from my shoulder streak across my face. I gingerly touched the wound of my shoulder, and I hissed in pain. It wasn't good – but I've had worse cuts.

I glanced to the man below me. It was one of my little quirks to look for anything the victim might have on them that I might want. Like their weapon, a piece of jewelery, something of value.

I frowned. This guy didn't have anything on him. Wait.

Then I spotted the thin, leather rope around his neck. With my hand, I pulled it from the inside of his shirt, curious to see what kind of emblem it might be.

It was a ring, I noted. As I sliced the rope off from his neck, I took it into my hand. Suddenly, bringing it closer to my eyes, I felt my blood run cold, and a chill ran through my entire body. I stared at the ring, a sinking feeling making itself known in the pit of my stomach.

"What the hell..." I whispered to myself. Taking the ring between two fingers, I examined every detail on it.

It was a simple looking ring, really. It was black, with a thin band of silver around each edge. It looked like it was made out of nickel, or even real silver. But that's not what caught my attention. The design on the ring was familiar to me. _Very_ familiar.

But I didn't know why. For some reason, I felt like I've seen that same ring before, a very, very long time ago. I twirled the ring around my two fingers, my eyes never leaving the design. Twin bands of gold intertwined together rhythmically across the entire band. And every half centimeter or so, a small, sharp shape protruded from the gold, looking like thorns on a vine.

I swallowed hard, thinking where in the _world_ I have seen such a pattern in my entire life. Suddenly, a very strange and dangerous idea began to form in my mind. I turned back to the unconscious man on the floor, and I knew that he wasn't going to move any time soon.

I slipped the ring into my pocket, finalizing the plan.

I reached down, and putting one arm around his chest, another around his back, I managed to hoist the man up, but I was still a little surprised at his weight. He was a little lighter than I would imagine for someone his age. I was pretty strong, but he was a bit taller than me – not by much, but he was. I managed to maneuver him over my shoulder, and I eyed the open window. I crawled through the shattered glass, wincing slightly as one jutting piece cut the side of my arm.

I looked around the dead of the night. The streets were still quiet, and, looking up to the nearest street sign, it came to me that I was actually very close to my own house. Strange that I didn't notice that before.

I took off into the night, running as fast as I could with the man over my shoulder. Years of training and sprinting through the most wildest of areas had increased my stamina, I only stopped twice in the four-mile distance.

I was constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure nobody saw us, and I went through the most vacant and dark places, taking every precaution that I wasn't noticed. By the time I could nearly see my own house, I glanced to my watch. It was just past one in the morning. I would have to hurry if I wanted to meet up with my boss on time. I was _not_ about to give that bastard another reason to distrust me, especially after this.

My boss could _not _find out about this. The orders were simple – kill everyone in the house. Everyone meaning João. I already failed at that. I knew that João wasn't one of the two sleeping men, because we had details about what he looked like – and he was not blonde, and he didn't have silver hair.

_Besides_, I thought to myself, finally reaching my house. _João is Spanish. Those guys definitely weren't._

My house is pretty simple, really. I used to have a roommate, but he was killed by a member of the Russian Mafia about eight months ago. I've been living by myself ever since then. The house is small. The kitchen and family room are in the same room, there's not really anything like a living room. Two bedrooms and one bathroom, it's pretty much perfect for two people living together. There's nothing in the back yard, just rocks and dirt.

None of the rooms are highly decorated. I mean, the kitchen's got a table and a few chairs, and the basic cooking necessities, but I tend to go out for fast food than cook. The family room has one couch, and a small TV that's rarely on.

I carried the man to my bedroom, just three corners from the entrance of the house itself. I carefully set him on my mattress, making sure his head didn't hit anything else. I tilted his head to the side, not wanting any pressure on the back of his head.

I walked across the room, and, with a little searching, pulled out a thick, sturdy rope about two feet long. Holding the rope in one hand, I made my way back to the man, and, despite how sexual it might sound, tied his hands together. Tightly. There was no way I was going to let him escape, too. There were no windows in my room, so I wasn't too worried about that. And in all honestly, I don't think this guy would be up for much moving around once he woke up.

It was about one-thirty now. I needed to get going. Double checking that my new knife was in my pocket, I closed the bedroom door, locking it.

My hands were deep in their pockets as I walked down the street in silent thought. That ring...

I needed answers. And that guy was going to give them to me.

_**X~X~X**_

I glanced at my watch once more. The boss was late.

I reached into my pocket, feeling for my pack of cigarettes, which I pulled out. I was running out, I thought miserably. I would have to get more. I just hoped the boss was feeling a little generous today, he might pay me a little extra for the job.

I put the cigarette to my lips, breathing in deeply. I then took it between two fingers, watching the embers at the end of the cigarette glow.

"Is it done?"

I looked up, the sudden voice barely phasing me. My boss was standing across from me, wearing exactly was he was just two hours earlier.

"Of course," I replied evenly, taking the cigar into my mouth again.

"How many were there?"

"Four."

"And João? Was he there?"

"Yes," I felt my mouth run dry slightly. "And he's dead."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." I reached into my knife pocket, and with a movement of my hand, pulled out the black knife. "This is what he had on him."

My boss took the knife in his hand, examining it closely. "This is his all right."

"You're so sure of that?" I teased, but my heart began to pound loudly. Wasn't the guy in my house _not _João?

"Yes," My boss nodded, then handed it back to me. "You can keep it."

"Thanks, I guess." I slipped the weapon back into its hidden place.

"You made absolute certain that he was dead, right?"

I looked up, the straight stare of my boss making me feel small. "Well, yeah. Why, don't trust me?"

"He had the necklace."

"Necklace." I confirmed. I was about to freak out, becoming more and more certain that the man in my house was in fact João.

"The cross, remember?" My boss asked.

"Yeah, it was a cross." I waved my hand. "What other necklace would it be?"

"Just making sure," My boss snapped, clearly irritated. "You might have thought it was someone else."

"How?"

"Well, all Spanish people look just about the same."

"That was a little racist." I scoffed.

My boss's eyes narrowed at me, but continued. "By the way, did you happen upon a ring while you were there? Maybe in João's pocket or something?"

"A ring?" I repeated, my eyebrows raising. "What do you mean?"

"It's a family emblem." My boss replied, leaning against the wall behind him. "I was just curious."

"No ring." I said. I dropped my cigarette on the ground, grinding it down with my foot to put it out. "Seriously, I killed the guy already, and the three others with him. Anything else you need?"

"Watch it, kid." The boss crossed his arms over his chest. "That kind of attitude can get you into places you don't want to be in."

"Yeah, yeah, bite me." I muttered.

I knew for a fact that I had not murdered João, and that the man at my house was not him either. He was someone different. But not _completely _different. My boss mentioned the ring... He knows something about it. I had to find an easy and casual way of finding out more about it.

"Can I go now?" I asked, looking back up. "It's getting cold out here. And I'm hungry."

"Fine." My boss said, standing up straight again. "Don't forget about tomorrow, got it?"

"I won't."

"Take good care of that blade, by the way." My boss added. "It looks like it was well-taken care of. Keep it that way."

"I'll try. But you know me and shiny things – they don't tend to stay that way for very long."

"I have to get going." My boss said, glancing to his right. "I have one more job to do before I call it a night."

"Well, have fun with that."

The boss just gave a single nod, and began walking off. I watched him for a moment, until he turned back to me, and smirked, his eyes gleaming in the dark.

"Well done, Lovino."


End file.
